Last Shift
by RogueFire92
Summary: Desmonds feels cheated as he wrestles with the last shift of a rainy night at Clancy's bar, unaware of the machinations about to take palce.


­­It was a quiet night at Clancy's. It had been that way all week. The torrential rain had dragged the town's men back to their miserable homes with their miserable families. The downpour seemed judgemental, scolding the world for its failures, its drunkenness. Desmond watched it splatter against the front windows, his back aching and his brain slowly being cooked by the cheap fluorescent lights. Trust management to give him the last shift of the night, cheap bastards. He'd tried everything to relieve the tedium: cleaned the restrooms, restocked the fridge, and even tried to remember the biggest brawl he'd seen in these parts. Now he was wiping down the bar. He'd been scrubbing the same blob of immovable grime for the last five minutes. Desmond had always felt that one day he'd be replaced by a machine, perhaps that time had already come. His mind was elsewhere tonight, somewhere out on the rain-soaked streets, somewhere beyond the subliminal advertising and the city skyscrapers, somewhere near the Farm where he grew up. He could still remember that place, that hellish collection of houses and training grounds. There they gave him his name, tried to make him something he was not.

Desmond's senses prickled, a mere second before the bar door swung open. Instinct, he'd had it for as long as he could remember, it was in his blood. His eyes snapped to attention. In the doorway stood a tall figure shrouded in a black rain jacket. It stood there for a moment, eyeing its surroundings like a giant periscope. Slowly, the creature pulled back its hood to reveal a man of about forty, with weathered skin and cropped black hair that was greying at the edges. The man grinned, his jacket trailing muddy water onto the freshly cleaned floorboards.

"How's this weather, huh?"

Desmond scowled to himself. Another half an hour and he would've been shutting up shop early. Instead he had some out-of-towner turning his workplace into low tide at the wharf. He wasn't the first stranger to barge in this late at night. Usually they were just fed up fathers looking for the nearest pizza joint so their kids would stop whining in the back seat.

"Yeah", he replied woodenly, continuing his work on whatever-the-hell was stuck on the bar. He didn't need this right now. If things didn't clear up, he'd be forced to ride home in the rain, and the beginnings of a headache were already brewing somewhere near the back of his skull.

The man chuckled to himself as he eased the door closed and hung up his jacket. Desmond couldn't help but notice his far-too-loud red tie and neatly pressed shirt as he walked merrily to the bar. _Great, just what this town needs. _

"I'll have a chilled water, no ice"

Another office worker. Desmond had to steady himself as he placed the man's drink on the bar. His head was already getting worse. The man accepted it gratefully, taking a few gulps before pointing at a graze on Desmond's arm. "Do you ride?"

Desmond paused, staring at the man. For the first time, he noticed he was wearing some kind of hearing aid. Hell with it, he thought. Maybe conversation would help pass the time.

"Yeah, it's a Ducati" he said, rolling his sleeves back down. "It's a bit of a guilty pleasure".

"Ah, I thought so. You know, I've seen a lot of them around the city recently." "The city?" Desmond asked with sudden interest. He didn't get many city folk around here.

"Yeah, I work in pharmaceuticals just up north" the man gestured up the main road.

"No shit", Desmond laughed awkwardly. The man didn't seem to notice, taking another swig from his glass. "So what brings you down here?"

The man looked into the distance for a moment.

"Don't know really," he mused. "Guess I just like the rain."

"Well we got plenty of that around here. It's been pissing down for…ah!"

Desmond stumbled as a fresh wave of pain exploded in his head like an atom bomb. A terrible ringing like some demonic dog whistle filled his ears. He felt the world spin, steadying himself against the bar.

"Are you okay?" The man asked, confused. Desmond nodded; feeling like his skull would implode.

"Yeah, it's just a stupid headache"

"A headache?" The man seemed to realise something. He reached into his pockets; rummaged for a few seconds, then pulled out a ballpoint pen and a packet of what looked like aspirin.

"We've just developed a new anti-inflammatory," he said excitedly, popping two of the smooth blue tablets from the foil into his glass. Desmond watched on in agony as the pills dissolved, leaving the water as clear as it was before. The man offered him the glass.

"It should be going to market soon."

Desmond started, about to refuse, but the ringing grew louder, tearing at the fabric of his brain. He grabbed the glass desperately, downing the cool water in one gulp. Panting, he fell against the back wall, already feeling the ringing lessening. Desmond stared in amazement.

"Damn, those things are fast" he sighed, clutching his forehead. "What do you call it?"

The man smiled, fiddling oddly with his pen. Desmond craned his neck, wondering what the man was doing, but he had already placed it back in his pocket.

"New Fluoride. Clears the head and cleans the teeth…as we say."

Desmond noticed the man eyeing something on the ground to his right. It was only now, his headache almost gone, that he realised he had dropped the glass after he drank from it. It lay there, shattered against the floorboards.

"Are you going to clean that up?" the man looked at him, something sinister in his eyes.

"Nah, I'll take care of it later." Desmond struggled to his feet, grimacing at the fresh kink in his back.

The man adjusted himself on his seat, slowly leaning forward until he was only a foot from Desmond's face.

"On the contrary Mr Miles, I think that you should clean that up right now."

Desmond froze, as if a switch had been flicked in his mind. He hadn't used his real name in years. There was something chilling about the way the man talked, like he knew he was in control.

"How do you know…"

"Be quiet!" the man shouted. Desmond felt his jaw clench, almost biting off his tongue. Something wasn't right here. An incredible tiredness came over him, one he'd never felt before. Even as he reached for the mop he knew he didn't want to, knew that that he didn't want to pick up the broken glass and feel the trickles of blood pool in his hands. But it happened. Somehow he had lost himself, become a spectator in his own body. He felt his vision clouding slowly, his hearing fading out as well. He screamed as he saw a strange black creature before him. Wait, it was that man again.

"Listen closely Mr Mi…going to close…ote to your boss…unplanned vacati…ibbean…bike and meet…will take it from there."

Desmond fought against his limbs with every fibre in him, but it was no use. The last thing he felt was the savage roar of a motorcycle beneath him, and the blurry neon flashes of the city lights.


End file.
